


Poker Face

by Corycides



Series: Tumbling On [7]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Gen, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 20:56:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/944559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corycides/pseuds/Corycides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everybody sees how Tom Neville treats Danny Matheson - but only Tom knows why</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poker Face

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dragomir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragomir/gifts).



It was a ritual of sorts. Four men, a table, bottles of whatever was passing for beer currently and a pack of faded, dog-eared cards. They played for pre-Blackout cash, tossing $100 into the pot like they’d never heard of mortgages or medical insurance.

Sometimes it amused Tom that he technically had better medical coverage under a totalitarian military regime than he had working for an insurance company. Of course, the medicine was more likely to kill you than the disease, but he could still see a doctor without worrying about the grocery budget for the month.

Baker, Kipling, Falmer and Tom.

He’d taken a dead man’s seat. Birch had previously been the fourth, but he’d been one of the first into Baltimore. A week later Falmer had invited/told Tom to join them. Julia thought it was an opportunity to advance, to network.

‘Go in sideways,’ she told him, brushing down his uniform. ‘Like a crab.’

For Tom it had been interminable nights spent breathing in beer farts and trying not to offend his superiors by cleaning them out - his talent for identifying lies applied to bluffs as well. He sipped bad beer - honestly, there was no way not to fart with that yeasty mess fermenting in your gut - and discretely lost.

Now, they were back to three players and Tom outranked everyone at the table.

He still wasn’t winning. He harboured dark suspicions that Baker was cheating, or possibly playing an entirely different game he’d not told them about. Alrhough, in fairness, it could just have been the over-sized fool had more room to store the beer.

‘So there was Miles,’ Baker said, dealing the cards. ‘Large as life and pouting because we’d had the temerity to change the rules in the five years since he buggered off.’

There was a pause as he reached for his beer and Tom didn’t look at Kipling - five year old paranoia catching at them all. It hadn’t taken Tom long to track down the ringleaders of Miles’ coup - General Matheson was not one of nature’s natural plotters - but suspicion had stuck to everyone like a bad smell for a while. Too many people had spoken well of Miles in passing, and ended up at the sharp end of Strausser’s enquiries.

Tom grimaced sourly. ‘He was less inclined to pass the time when I encountered him.’

‘He hit me on the head and tied me to a chair,’ Jeremy pointed out. ‘We weren’t exactly running down a beach in slow-mo.’

‘Still.’

‘In fairness, he never liked you.’

True - it was why Monroe had trusted him, back then - and hardly relevant any more, the days when Miles Matheson had influence over promotions was long best. Still, the reminder stung. Tom was a good soldier, if never with the flare that Miles valued, but he’d never seemed to live up to Miles’ expectations.

‘I never liked him.’

Jeremy made a rude sound with his lips. ‘Everyone liked him. He was our...thingy.’

Most people would have continued the search for the world. Jeremy apparently felt content to just leave it where it lay.

‘Thingy?’ Tom prompted.

‘You know,’ Jeremy said, waving his half-empty bottle for emphasis. ‘Mascot. Idol. Lucky Charm. He was General Miles fucking Matheson, and he might not have liked us much but he’d kick the ass of anyone that tried it on.’

‘And a traitor, who tried to kill General Monroe.’

Jeremy snorted and took another swig of bitter, over-brewed beer. ‘Monroe’s over that,’ he said. ‘I suggest you get there too. Way I figure, Matheson will be back in our good books by Christmas.’

‘How?’

Jeremy shrugged. ‘He’s coming back, isn’t he? Why, if not to kiss and make-up with Monroe?’

‘To save his nephew?’

A cheer leer spread over Jeremy’s face. ‘Oh yeah, the Matheson boy. We all heard about you and him.’

‘What.’

Kip coughed into his hand. ‘Why don’t we play poker?’

He looked at his cards, rubbery-mobile face pulling down in the misery that suggested a good hand. The militia’s professional pessimist, he was convinced that a good hand early in the game would only lead to disappointment later. For once Tom didn’t try to take advantage. He glared at Jeremy across the table.

‘What have you heard?’ he demanded.

‘Nothing much,’ Jeremy drawled, sitting back. He crossed his legs under the table, kicking the legs. ‘Just that you spent a lot of personal one on one time with the boy, all sweaty and up close. Counselling him, I’m sure.’

An angry flush burned Tom’s cheek. ‘He was my prisoner.’

‘Oh, I know,’ Jeremy said pleasantly, pressing his hand to his chest earnestly. ‘I’m not doubting it. Us married men, we have to avoid temptation.’

‘You aren’t married, Jeremy.’

He twisted his mouth and dropped his attention back to his cards. ‘If she ever finds me, she would beg to differ.’

‘You’re gay.’

Jeremy shrugged without looking up. ‘Yeah, there was also a period where I drank a lot and made bad decisions.’

‘You still make bad decisions, I’ve seen your reports.’

‘Don’t strip down to my vest to rub on 18 year olds though,’ Jeremy said. ‘That’s kinda creepy Uncle. I mean who wears vests? Is the rough fabric? Does it chafe your nipples? I just use a bit of-’

Kip threw in a wad of cash. ‘I raise.’

Throttled down anger made Tom’s fingers shake, but habit made him follow the rules. He matched and glared at Jeremy, trying to gauge his hand. The problem was Jeremy didn’t much care, one way or the other.

‘I am a father, I felt for the boy.’

‘So you beat him up?’ Jeremy asked, fishing crumpled bills out of his jacket pocket. ‘Still getting the creepy Uncle vibe, Tom. Gotta tell you.’

It was just Jeremy trying to throw Tom off his game. He knew that.

Still

This wasn’t the first time he’d heard the whispers of impropriety. He’d caught the sidelong looks that were more than just envy of his new position; walked into sudden silences, catching the tail end of laughter.

He wouldn’t be the first. After the Blackout, the rules changed - at least for those on top of the heap. Morality was, at best, a suggestion. Propriety was, at most, an amusing notion. Jeremy flaunted a string of pretty young men, more than one at a time sometimes; after Kipling’s wife died of typhus, he hired a series of hookers who looked nothing like her to play nanny to his kid.

That had never been Tom’s way though. He had Julia. That was who he was. Being her husband, loving her, was what he’d used to hold himself together after...the worst of things. He was a family man, a good family man.

‘Ben Matheson coddled the boy,’ Tom said. He studied his cards, creased cardboard and paint. ‘Danny had no idea what the world was really like - not this world. He thought being a good person meant something.’

Like Jason. Like Jason would have been, should have been, if everything hadn’t changed. Kind, idealistic, blind to the sins of their fathers.

‘And you thought you’d give him an education?’ Jeremy asked, leering over the table. ‘Show him the ways of the world, eh?’

‘You’re disgusting,’ Tom said flatly. ‘I just...’

What? Honesty wasn’t something that Tom often allowed himself. He couldn’t afford it. Tonight though - between the beer and the nostalgia of soft, crumpled bills - it snuck up on him. He did believe that cracking the boy’s shell of idealism was the best chance Danny had of surviving being...useful to General Monroe. Tell Monroe that he was a monster, and he would be only too happy to prove you right. Danny wasn’t enough like Miles to benefit from any lingering fondness there.

Yet, at the same time, he didn’t see why Danny should be allowed to be blind to the reality of his world. Or why Ben Matheson should be a better father than Tom. Because, that was what it meant wasn’t it? All the harshness, all the cruelty, that Ben had protected his son from - it had to have ruined the boy. Otherwise all Tom was, was cruel. He didn’t want that to be true.

‘...I just thought that if we could turn the boy, he’d be useful,’ he said. ‘That’s all.’

He lost the hand to Jeremy.


End file.
